Deserters
by keldor314
Summary: When the stoats Thura and Dingeye died, they took with them much in the way of potential character development. But what if things had gone differently? What if the arrow which took Brother Hal's life had missed? This is the story of a pair o' pore unedicated vermin, told from the beginning. What lessons would they learn (if any)? How can a small change affect times to come?
1. Prologue

Prologue

Grey clouds hung low over the trees of Mossflower, bringing with them rain, a slow grey drizzle that soaked through one's fur, leaving it as cold and damp as the rest of the dreary, grey landscape. The day before, birds had sung and the sun had shone upon the bright colours of spring, the bright green leaves, beneath which bloomed vibrant bluebells, spiky looking ramsons, delicate anemones, rich violets, and a myriad of others. But now the heads of the wildflowers drooped, their colors muted in the dull grey light, and all around was silent but for the soft yet steady patter of water falling from the grey sky.

There stood the great abbey of Redwall, its wettened stonework dark and slippery. Within the great sandstone walls, the blooms of the gardens and the orchard hung just as sodden as the woods without, yet the sturdy sloped roof of the great structure was fast against the weather, keeping the inhabitants cozy and dry. Tendrils of smoke rose gently up from a chimney, accompanied by the scent of cooking from the kitchens. Fresh nutbread farls, fragrant apple bakes, and savory barley soup with leek and ramson!

The abbey dibbuns were restless. They had been cooped up indoors all morning, but still there was no indication of the weather breaking. Mother Mara's patience had finally snapped when an arrow shot from the toy bow of the squirrelmaid Rosemary had overturned her dandelion and mint tea. Brother Dumble had interceded on the little squirrelmaid's behalf before the big badgermum could set her to sweeping the dormitory hall, and now the old dormouse sat in the comfy chair next to the warm fireplace in the infirmary, with Rosemary and a second dibbun, the mole Burrem, sitting on the rug before him. They shared blackcurrant tarts between them and sipped sweet rosehip tea.

"Didn' you say you were gonna tell us a story, Bruvver Dumble?" Rosemary looked expectantly at the elderly dormouse.

"Why yes, so I did. So I did," the old dormouse laughed. "Yesterday I told you about Ferahgo the Assassin and how he tried to conquer the great mountain fortress of Salamandastron, only to be stopped at the last moment by brave woodlanders."

"I didn' hear it!" the little squirrel protested.

"Hurr hurr, Oi 'amembers alroight! You'm be'd a'spendin' 'ee 'ole day uppen 'ee gurt tree in 'ee orchard! Boi 'okey, Oi think 'ee was 'idin' from Motha 'Ara givin' 'ee yon barth!" Burrem chuckled.

"But I want to hear it! Tell it again, Bruvver Dumble!" Rosemary pleaded.

The dormouse shook his head firmly. "I refuse to tell the same story twice in a row. Besides, I happen to know your grandfather has told you it before, young Rosemary. Old Samkim does so love to tell it. But don't you worry your pretty head, the story I'm about to tell you is a good one. It all happened right around the same time and is the tale of two of the most unusual beasts to grace our abbey in many a season…"


	2. Watchbeasts

Chapter 1

Far away to the south of Mossflower, past wastelands and over mountains, across rushing streams where the sound of flowing water forever filled the air as it swept inevitably toward the sea, and there further south along the rocky coasts and sea-beaten cliffs, where waves crashed and seagulls cried, the sun was setting. Crimson light shone down from the burning clouds while the last rays of sunlight glinted off the waves of the great sea.

Still further south, the water was calmer, sighing rhythmically up and down the sandy shore, which gave way to rough grass as the ground began to slope up towards the east. Above this, hills overlooked the sea, upon which the waving grass was broken here and there by bushes and clumps of trees, all suffused in the rosy light of the vanishing sun. It was from one of these copses that tendrils of smoke rose from the camping fires of a small host of beasts.

Yet not a single one of these creatures appreciated the majestic scene, for they were vermin all. Weasels, ferrets, rats, and others, the Corpsemakers of Ferahgo the Assassin!

…

"Do I hafta be lookout again?" whined a rat. "I been up watchin' fer two nights straight, an' wit' all this travelin', I don' see as I's 'ad a single wink of sleep fer the past three days!"

Before him stood a weasel, tall and lean yet muscular. On his face he wore a smile, reflected in his sparkling blue eyes. When he spoke, his voice was full of concern and understanding.

"I understand, Choptail. You've worked hard these past days and think you deserve a rest?"

"Oh yessh! Yessh! After all that hard workin' an' toilin' an' watchin' fer anybeast a'sneakin' up, I could use me a good sleep!" The rat looked relieved at the ease with which the weasel, who was none other than Ferahgo himself, had agreed with him.

The assassin placed a comradery arm around Choptail's shoulders. "Say no more. Let no beast say that Ferahgo doesn't let his mates have a well deserved rest."

"Oh thank yer! Thank yer mas-urk!"

Choptail's eyes widened with shock as Ferahgo withdrew his long, thin knife from between the rat's ribs. A single well-practiced thrust had pierced his heart, and the poor beast was rapidly dying, his lifeblood spilling out across the grass.

As the world faded to darkness, the last thing Choptail heard were the soft words of the Ferahgo. "Sleep well, friend."

The assassin's smile remained, cold as winter frost, as he carelessly cast the dead rat aside. "Migroo! Get this worthless carcass out of my sight!"

As the stoat Migroo hastened to do Ferahgo's bidding, the assassin's eyes swept over the encampment. Vermin gathered in clusters around scattered campfires, some loitering around playing games of chance tossing bones, some sprawled out upon the ground to sleep upon such meager bedding as they could scrounge up. Some even roasted fowl they had caught during the day's long travel.

Others had not been so lucky.

Two stoats, Thura and Dingeye, sat on either side of a pile of wood and tinder, which, unlike the other cheerfully blazing campfires, lay dark and sullen in the gathering darkness. Thura was attempting to start a blaze by rubbing two sticks together, a task that was proving much more difficult than the stories would lead one to believe. Dingeye spat at the cold pile of branches.

"If yer 'adden lost that flint, we'd've been cookin' dinner by now! I'm starvin'!"

Thura threw the two sticks away in disgust, nearly clobbering Dingeye in the process. "An' if yer 'ad grabbed those eggs from that nest, we'd've 'ad summat to cook! Yer looked like a ninny, bein' chased around by that thrush!"

"Yer woulda too, iffen yer 'ad seen th' beak on it! An' I didn' see ye comin' ter 'elp neither!" Dingeye huffed.

"How could I 'ave 'elped? Yer were clear across a field! An' that muddy ditch too!" Thura dug through his pack, pulling out what little food he had managed to scrounge up that day. "Life be crool ter such a pair o' pore 'ungry stoats as ourselfs, mucker, I tells yer. We gots no fire an' only a couple o' 'ard turnips ter eat. Iffen we lives ter see th' winter I'll be surprized. Aye, an they sez th' summer be a time o' plenty. Pfah! Nay, 'tis 'ard times an' 'arder."

Dingeye picked up one of the turnips and looked at it gloomily. "Right yer are, mucker. Us'll wither away 'til we's naught but skin'n'bones. Oh wot a sight 't'will be, what were once 'andsome 'ealthy stoats, reduced ter ruin."

Thura took the other turnip and tried to rub the dirt off with even dirtier robes. "It's been all bad luck fer us e'er since we joined up wit' Ferahgo an' 'is 'orde. Marchin' away widdout a rest in sight, an' no time t' find nuffin' ter eat on th' way. Wot'd we go an' do that fer, ey mucker?"

Dingeye again spat into what would have been the fire had the stoats not lost their flint. "We joined 'cause Ferahgo said 'e'd skin us alive if'n we din't. An' 'e meant it, mucker! Did yer see th' way 'e ran 'is finger down that blade o' 'is? 'T'were like 'e wanted nuffin' more'n t' use it ter make some pore beast die screamin'!"

"That's 'cause it really were wot 'e wanted ter do, mucker. Gyargh! This turnip's all covered'n sand!" Thura had attempted to take a bite out of his turnip.

"Yore s'posed ter peel it first, bottlebrain." Dingeye, who had been about to take a bite out of his unpeeled turnip himself, pulled out his knife. "See, yer jus' cut it like this, easy as- YOWCH!"

"Yer look like yore peelin' yer fingers more like," Thura sniggered as Dingeye sucked his bleeding finger. "If yore careful like me, yer won' 'ave ter stick yore claws back on later."

The stoats whittled away at their turnips, managing to avoid any further self inflicted cuts. By the time they had finished there was little left, owing not only to the scrawny nature of the turnips Thura had found, but also due to a general lack of vegetable peeling skill by the stoats.

Thura raised his turnip up to his mouth and bit into it, immediately pulling a wry face. "Thisf turn'p'sf nasfty!"

"Yer don't say," responded Dingeye, who was already chewing his first bite. "Iffen I 'ad found 'em, they wouldn' taste like sour rocks."

"Well, yer didn't find 'em, now did yer. Y' came up as empty pawed as a frog in a desert!" Thura retorted.

If Dingeye had a response, it was forever lost, for at this moment Dethbrush arrived.

The tall fox leered down at the sitting stoats. "Feragho said to go fetch a couple of the new recruits, and who should I find but you two?"

Thura gulped hard, then gagged as this sent an unchewed bite of turnip painfully down his throat. "GA-HACK KOFF-ulp! F-Ferahgo wants us?"

Dingeye remained silent, but his expression, as well as the half-eaten turnip falling from his shaking paws, said it all.

"Oh yes. Says he has a job for you. If you ask me, he's testing, finding out which of you newcomers are strong enough to keep and which he should, well…" The fox grinned wickedly and made a swift cutting gesture across his throat. "You'd best not keep him waiting. Unless you want to, of course."

By this time, the two stoats were clinging to each other in fear, wide eyes darting from side to side, seeking a route to escape, not that they would have gotten far. Dethbrush aimed a kick at the nearest.

"Come on, up on yore paws. That's right. Now, this way. March!"

Dingeye yelped in pain as Dethbrush's footpaw connected with his ribs. But the kick had an effect as both stoats scrambled to their paws, their dinner forgotten. The fox placed a paw behind the back of each one and shoved hard, and the two unhappy stoats were sent stumbling in the direction of the much feared assassin.

…

Ferahgo lay comfortably upon the bed of moss growing around the roots of the tree Choptail had stood watch in. Up above, through gaps between branches and softly rustling leaves, the first stars shone timidly in the darkening sky. Amongst them, darkening clouds drifted, soon to be lost to the night.

Ferahgo called out to the stoat nearby, "I do hope I will not have to lay my eyes upon Choptail again when I get up. I'm afraid all that blood does nothing to enhance his features, nor indeed does the hole in his chest."

Migroo was having some difficulty dragging away the dead rat. He had planned his path poorly and the bushy undergrowth grabbed and tugged at his burden. He waved to Ferahgo cheerfully.

"Don't yeh worry 'bout that, chief! I'll 'ave 'em outta here soon as I can get 'is stinkin' carcass free of this bush. Fat blighter must've eaten more'n 'is share of vittles 'cause 'e's 'eavier'n a pair o' rocks!"

"I'm glad to hear it, Migroo. You wouldn't like it if I added your ear to my collection." Ferahgo flicked a paw toward his kilt, which was said to be made from the skins of his dead enemies. Then he looked up. "Ah, Dethbrush! I see you're back!"

The fox roughly shoved the pair of stoats he had brought forward, sending them tumbling to the ground by Ferahgo's feet. "I brought you a pair o' the new recruits, master. They look like they could use a bit of sharpening, heheh."

Ferahgo sat up, fixing his beautiful blue eyes on the new arrivals. "Ah! Thura and Dingeye, I believe? I'm glad to see you."

"D-did yer 'ear 'at, mucker? 'E knows our names!" Thura's voice was a low, terrified whisper.

"Shh! 'E'll 'ear yer!" Dingeye lashed out at Thura with one paw urgently as he pushed himself back upright. Then he froze, his face going pale. Dethbrush's shove had sent him sprawling directly into the pool of blood spilled by Ferahgo's dagger shortly before. The stoat looked very much like he was about to be sick as he regarded the blood on his paws and clothing, black beneath the dwindling twilight.

There was a scuffling nearby, accompanied by cursing. This time it was Thura who caught a glimpse of the rat's corpse as it disappeared into the hidden hollow that Migroo had stumbled into.

"Why of course I know the name of my new friends." Ferahgo's soft voice brought the stoats' attention back to the weasel as surely as if it had been a thundercrack. Indeed, Ferahgo knew the name of every single one of his Corpsemakers. The sheer terror on their faces when they learned of this knowledge, making them believe that he had singled them out, was worth every bit of effort. "I'm glad you came. I have a job that even dull witted beasts such as yourselves might excel at."

"Y-y-yer d-do?" Thura's face was nearly as pale as that of Dingeye, who was still staring at his bloodied paws, his entire body shaking.

Ferahgo's smile grew as he continued, "I do indeed. Our last watchbeast is taking a well deserved rest." As Ferahgo spoke, Migroo grunted, heaving Choptail's corpse back up out of the hollow. "So I was hoping some fine beasts as yourselves would volunteer to keep watch in his place."

"I-I-I er, w-we, uh…" Thura stuttered.

"Yes! Yes! We'll do it!" Dingeye found his voice at last, "we'll do it! Please doan' 'urt us, master, we'll do it!" He groveled on the ground, mixing dirt with blood.

"Why, such enthusiasm!" Ferahgo continued smiling, gesturing toward the tree. "Up you go now, and be sure to keep your eyes open. Because if you miss something, I'll skin you alive."

The weasel warlord said this calmly, matter-of-fact, but Thura and Dingeye both knew he meant every word. They scrambled up the tree as fast as their shaking paws would take them, heedless of cuts or scratches, until at last the branches grew slender and they could climb no higher, leaving the stoats on a most precarious perch.

Below, Ferahgo laid back and closed his eyes, still smiling.


	3. The Night Wind

Chapter 2

Darkness covered the land as the last vestiges of dusk faded to blackness, pierced by countless twinkling stars. Low over the western horizon, a thin crescent moon hung, soon to be lost beneath the fathomless depths of the sea. As it sank, its light had reddened, going from white to yellow, then to orange and crimson. It reminded Dingeye of a bloodied claw, an uneasy thought after that evening's events.

The stoats had clung grimly to the tree branches for nearly an hour, scarcely daring to breathe lest they attract the attention of Ferahgo, who still lay at the base of the tree. But now their paws had cramped and their arms ached. This, along with the realization that the assassin had been quiet for some time now and was hopefully sleeping, stirred the stoats.

Thura slowly released his grip on a branch with one paw, wincing at the dull pain this brought to his stiff digits. He gave the paw a vigorous shake, then repeated the process with the other, leaning against the branch to keep his balance. "Oh, me pore ol' paws. They'll ne'er be th' same agin, I tells yer."

"Ye think yer 'as it bad, mucker," Dingeye said as he too stirred aching limbs, "I gots blood 'n' dirt matted in me fur, all dry an' 'ard like! I'll be a'scrubbin' meself raw afore I gets this lot out. An' me paws ache an 'urt jus's much as yore's."

"I reck'nized that rat 'e slew. Murdered more like," Thura shook his head sadly, "'t'were none other'n our ol' mucker Choptail."

"Aye, an' 'e'll kill us next, jus' yer watch, soon as 'e wears us to th' bone an' 'prives us of 'r sleep. I don' wan' ter die, mucker!" Tears were welling up in Dingeye's eyes.

"Pore beasts such's ourselfs 'ave so left much ter live fer," sniffled Thura, "ter be cut down at th' prime o' our lifes, jus' as like a'choppin' th' 'eads offen wheat ter make bread."

"Yer never baked a loaf o' bread in yer life," scoffed Dingeye as he scrubbed at his fur in a vain attempt to clean it, "said it 't'were too much work for yore pore ol' paws."

"Oh, aye, an' so 't be! 'Tis th' lot o' life fer us pore stoats, havin' ter work 'n' labor jus' ter 'ave a scrap o' food in our tummies, an' then bein' marched out 'ere an' worked right ter death agin jus' afore bein' murdered!" Thura lamented, "a curse an' a pox on that Ferahgo!"

Dingeye gasped as Thura's voice unintentionally rose. Realizing this as well, Thura clamped his paw over his mouth and both stoats held their breath, silently praying that Ferahgo had not heard. A moment passed, then two, but all remained silent, save for the two stoats gasping for air again.

"Yer coulda got us both killed right then an' there!" Dingeye hissed, breaking the silence, "t'would've been curtains fer th' both o' us."

"I didn' mean ter! It jus' came out!" Thura protested, but there was an uncertain quaver in his voice, "'sides, 'e didn' 'ear us, did 'e?"

"Oh, ye thinks that, do yer? Mebbe 'e 'eard but 'e don' want ter bother climbin' up 'ere when 'e can jus' murder us when we come down agin!" Dingeye intended these words to come out with a growl, but the strain in his voice revealed his panic, "now jus' be quiet afore yer says somethin' worse."

Thura nodded miserably and the two stoats became silent, resigned to wakefulness through all the long hours of the night.

* * *

The hours crawled silently past, each one stretching to an eternity as the stars wheeled overhead with glacial slowness, gradually becoming obscured by the growing clouds which formed rifts of deeper darkness in the sky. The wind had shifted, and now a stiff breeze blew in from the west, carrying with it the salty scent of the sea below, where the once gentle surf had been replaced by crashing waves, capped in white and blowing seaspray. In the hills up above, the gusting wind sent ripples through the grass and shook bushes, but it was the tops of the trees, standing either alone or in scattered copses, which took the brunt of the wind, bowing and swaying, leaves rustling loudly.

It was in one of these treetops that the stoats Thura and Dingeye hung, paws clenched tightly to the thin upper branches as they bent and shifted, each one seemingly with its own idea of how best to twist and lean to endure the growing gale.

"We got ter get down, mucker!" Thura shouted over the rising wind, "afore we's shook ter ragdolls!" He gasped and whimpered as the branch he was balanced upon abruptly lurched downward in the wake of a sudden gust of wind.

"Are yer mad?!" Dingeye called out. His paws were wrapped around a branch somewhat thicker than Thura's, yet neither was he spared from the erratic rocking and jostling of the tree limbs before the relentless assault of the weather. "Ferahgo'll flay us! Ye 'eard wot 'e said!"

"'E wants us ter keep watch, not ter be flung down an' smashed inter bits!" Thura was already painstakingly shimmying his way backward towards thicker limbs. "'Sides, iffen summat do 'appen, Ferahgo needs ter 'ear our warning, don' 'e?"

"Right yer are!" Dingeye was not difficult to persuade, for in truth he himself was nearly as afraid of falling to a sudden death as he was of the weasel assassin down below. "An' iffen we's closer down, we can see wot's 'appenin' better."

"Aye, we'll be much better watchbeasts from near th' ground where we don' 'ave ter strain our eyes!" Thura said as he continued creeping backward, "hey, these branches aren't too slipper-ieEEE!"

Thura lost his hold as a sudden gust jerked the branch about violently. He screamed as his thin body followed his paws, flipping out into the void. It was only his legs, wrapped tightly around the branch as he had wiggled his way backwards, which prevented him from plummeting to the ground far below. As it was, he hung from his knees, swinging about wildly as the fierce wind buffeted both stoat and tree.

"Aaaagh! Halp! Halp! I'm slippin'! Haaalp!" Thura cried out as his arms flailed desperately, seeking something, anything, to grab.

"I gots yer, mucker!" Dingeye hurled himself across onto the branch the other stoat hung from. Thura again shrieked as the impact whipped the branch out of his grip, sending him tumbling into space!

"YEEAAARG-Yow! Yowowowowow! Me tail! Oh me pore tail!"

Dingeye had grabbed the only part of Thura he could reach, and now the poor stoat dangled painful by his tail. "Gotcher! Oopfh! Yer been eatin' bricks? Gnaagh!"

Thura yelped and Dingeye leaned back, pulling with all his might. Then the beginning of a small noise near the trunk of the tree chilled the blood of both stoats.

"Do yer 'ear tha-"

_CRAAAAAACK!_

Between the wind and the weight of two struggling stoats, the slender branch had had enough. It snapped at its base and fell into darkness!

"AAAIEEEEE! OOF! URK! YAAARGH! OW OW OW! EEEEAAIIEEGH! UMPH! YAGH!"

The stoats tumbled down the tree, bouncing from branch to branch, long bodies flopping about as they fell. They were stopped short of plowing into the ground by a thick limb near the base, and there they hung limply like damp towels, groaning softly.

"...ooowwwhh, I think I broke every bone in me body."

"...aaawwrgh, they's gonna 'ave te' put us in bags ter carry us down, so as ter keep all th' pieces."

"I hope you two are keeping a sharp watch," a cold voice cut through the breeze, "because it looks to me like you're laying about relaxing. It would be truly unfortunate if you missed something."

Ferahgo the Assassin had been disturbed by the screaming of the falling stoats, and now his gaze was fixed on them, although he hadn't moved from the spot upon which he lay. Shrouded beneath the darkness of night, his blue eyes twinkled and his smile glittered. At the sound of his voice, the stoats scrambled into more or less upright positions, whimpering in pain as they did so.

"Oh, ow ow! We w-were jus' - nngh - stretchin' a bit," Thura babbled, the pain in his tail reminding him that he wasn't quite lying.

"Yes! Yes!" Dingeye nodded vigerously, then winced as this caused pain to shoot down his neck and through his ribs, "eeow oh ow! Stretchin's 'portant, so as we don' be all stiff like an' cramped iffen summat 'appens!"

The cold smile remained on Ferahgo's face as he spoke, "I'm glad to hear it. Such skill and alertness deserves recognition. How would you like to be official Watchbeasts of the Corpsemakers?"

The stoats groaned and whimpered piteously.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you," the weasel said, cupping a hand to his ear.

"W-we'll d-do it!" Thura sobbed, tears running down his face.

"The choice is yours, my friends. I wouldn't force you to do anything against your will." Ferahgo's smile was open and friendly, but something in the tone of his voice hinted to the stoats of what might happen to them if they choose wrongly.

"W-we'd love t-ter be watch… beasts…" Dingeye's voice trailed off into a whimper as he pronounced his own doom.

"Very well. Just remember, as watchbeasts, you have a responsibility towards the safety of the entire horde. And towards your own."

Ferahgo stretched luxuriously and closed his eyes, appearing to go to sleep, although no beast would dare test this. His smile remained. In the branches above, Thura and Dingeye softly whimpered and sniffled, but the sounds were lost to the wind.

Far out over the sea, dark clouds had gathered, lit now and then by distant lightning. The clouds gradually grew as the winds carried them towards land, and now the distant rumble of thunder could be heard. A storm was coming.

* * *

The striking of hailstones awoke Thura and Dingeye, who were dozing on watch, unable to keep their eyes open. Down they lashed, cold, wet, and stingingly hard. They were nearly the size of grapes, and did not come down singly or in pairs, but in roaring sheets, stripping leaves off of trees and piling up on the ground like snow. As the hail rapidly increased into a torrent, the sound of the crashing ice overpowered even the sharp crack of thunder from nearby lightning playing about the hilltops.

The tree the stoats were in was on the sparse side, with large gaps in its foliage. Useful for keeping watch, but not so much for shelter against the weather. Indeed, the hail was scarcely slowed, and struck the poor stoats in a vicious barrage as they huddled together with their paws over their heads, all the while keeping their balance against the howling wind.

"Yeeaaagh! Th' sky's a'fallin', mucker!" Thura wailed.

"Yew idjit! Can't yer see 'tis jus' 'ail! A lil' ice never 'urt nobeas- YOWCH!" Dingeye yelped as a rather large hailstone struck him squarely on the tender tip of his nose.

"It don' matter wot it is! We's bein' smashed ter bits! Ow!"

The hail kept hammering down upon the defenseless stoats, who yelped and wailed before nature's wrath. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the hail died away, replaced by a light rain and a deceptive calm in the wind.

Dingeye opened his eyes, which had been squeezed shut in terror. "D-do yer think it's over mucker?"

Thura took his paws off the branch and began gingerly probing what he was certain were a profusion of great big welts and bruises all over his face and back. To his surprise, his pelt was smooth, if soaked, and but for one or two tender spots, unharmed. "'Will yer lookit that, mucker! I's jus' fine! Not a bruise or bump in sight!"

Dingeye apprehensively released the branch and felt his own fur, finding that it too was smooth and unscathed, although the tip of his nose was slightly swollen. "'Ey, yore right! We isn' beat ter a pulp after all!"

"Hah! We mus' be stout an' sturdy stoats iffen that lot di'n' 'urt us! Skin as thick as a badger's 'ide! Why, iffen-"

_KRAACKOOOOM!_

A blinding flash of lightning, followed almost instantly by a deafening boom of thunder startled Thura up into the air. He came back down straight into Dingeye, and the stoats, tangled up and with arms flailing, fell to the ground.

"WAARGH- OOF!"

For a moment they lay there on their backs, winded. Then Dingeye forced himself upright with a gasp of terror. "Aaa! We's sorry, Ferahgo! We slipped!"

Thura shot bolt upright immediately after. "Tha's right! But we's goin' back up right... now?" his voice trailed off into uncertainty.

"Where'd 'e go?" Dingeye spoke after a moment, "he was right 'ere, wasn' 'e?"

Thura groped around in the darkness, but found nothing. "He isn' 'ere!"

"Where d' yer s'pose 'e went, mucker?" Dingeye scratched his head.

"I knows where 'e went! How do yer like that? Off ter find summat nice an' dry while 'e leaves us pore stoats ter soak!" Thura shook his head sadly, ruminating on the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that ever rained down upon the heads of poor stoats.

And rain it did. It had not stopped once during the lull, but now the wind returned and flung the icy drops with a vengeance. Fur was soaked and bones chilled, while lightning flashed and thunder cracked, and above all the wind howled its hatred of all that was warm and dry.

Thura felt a paw on his shoulder and Dingeye's voice whispered in his ear. "Now's our chance!"

"Chance fer wot?" Thura asked, his train of thought interrupted.

"Ter get outta here!" Dingeye hissed, "Now, while it's dark an' the rain's washin' away our tracks!"

Thura felt his heart lift. To leave, to escape the scowling presence of the other vermin, with all the hardships and forced marches, and most of all, to never again feel the cruel gaze of Ferahgo the Assassin on his back! This was worth anything the elements could throw at him. "Aye, let's go."

Two stoats slipped out from the deep shadows beneath a copse of trees and ran heedlessly out into the stormy night. Up into the hills they went, their progress revealed in stages by the flashing lightning. From time to time one would stumble upon the slippery grass, but the strength of desperation always stopped them short before they could roll down and down to the distant bottom of the long slope. And so they would drag themselves back to their paws and press forward, seeking to turn a corner and climb beyond the sight of the horde they had left behind. Over the hills and into the moorlands beyond, where lightning danced and wind blew.

* * *

**Notes:**

**Waycaster: Dingeye and Thura really are quite a pair! They blame bad fortune for their problems, but, between you and me, I think general idiocy is the real issue. It remains to be seen how they manage to keep their heads on their shoulders.**

**Grey: Burrem is actually a canon Redwall character. He's the mole dibbun Dumble told the story to in the Prologue/Epilogue of Salamandastron, which I referenced when he said "yesterday I told you the story of..." Burrem is Arula's grandson. Rosemary is an OC, the granddaughter of Samkin, that squirrel who kept shooting all the arrows. She seems to take after him.**

**Samkim and Arula are due to show up in the story eventually, but Dingeye and Thura still have a long way to go before they get to Redwall.**

**Ferahgo will indeed not show up much in the story. There's one last scene with him coming in Chapter 3, but after that, we probably won't see him again. Of course, even our two stoats are unlikely to forget him. And yes, Migroo was a minorish vermin in the book.**

**Jack: I have a handful of ideas around the Dryditch Fever, though I'm not sure exactly which way I'll take it.**

**Everyone: Thank you all for the complements! It means a lot to me that people enjoy my writing.**


End file.
